


Second Chances

by StillTicksAway



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novel), This Is Not Romance (Webcomic)
Genre: Strade's a horrible person, that continues to be a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillTicksAway/pseuds/StillTicksAway
Summary: Strade finds Raven's pendant.  Ren finds Raven's pendant.  Raven possesses Ren, and it doesn't end well.  Then: Strade orders Ren into the basement, and Raven tells Ren she can go instead.  She has plans--and she'll need Ren's trust do them.  This Strade is different from the one she knew, but if she could get to Earth, then why couldn't he?





	1. In Which Strade Decides That Nothing is Wrong with Ren

**Author's Note:**

> Raven is called Raven because Raven likes to be called Raven.

One of Strade’s first victims had been a street peddler, recently homeless. He’d bought a charm off of them, a blue glass teardrop attached to a choker. It had caught Strade’s eye, among the other things of various value on the blanket market. When he’d first picked it up, it was cold to the touch, then warm, then prickly. 

Strade came back later that night to pick of the meddler, who didn’t last particularly long. Depressed and worn down people were easier to get home, but tended to be less satisfying in their struggle--or rather, the lack thereof.

The charm found its way into Strade’s basement. Occasionally, Strade would come across it, and look at it for a moment, only to put it away somewhere different. There was something about it that made him want to keep it around, and yet he forgot about it once he stopped looking at it. There was, after all, more entertainment often on hand.

Time passed, and Strade’s kills became more elaborate. He drew them out, when he could. He started up his web show. He found Ren. He kept Ren. And the charm traveled around his basement, forgotten again each time he put it down. And it would have continued to be forgotten, had Ren not walked into the kitchen that day with it in his hand. Strade had been eating a cut of meat from his current project. He wanted to try properly butchering this one, for his show. Would it be worth keeping the meat though? 

He was masticating, and considering the taste, when he met Ren’s eyes. That was unusual itself. Ren never met Strade’s eyes if he could help it, which he certainly couldn’t always. But that gaze was half-lidded and distant. Ren would sometimes get like that after Strade had played with him. But he hadn’t recently. 

And then Ren looked past Strade, around the kitchen. 

“Hungry?” Strade asked after swallowing. “I could make you a cut.”

Ren continued to look around the kitchen, eyes still dazed. Strade frowned. He stood and crossed the room to Ren, grabbing the fox by his hair, and wrenching his gaze upward, making Ren look him in the face. “I asked you if you wanted some food.” Ren winced, claws going up to Strade’s hand, and scratching him. The pendant flew across the kitchen, clattering, but not breaking. Strade hissed in pain, and brought his arm down, flinging Ren onto the ground. The fox landed face first, and Strade pinned him down with his boot. He licked the blood from the cuts on his hand. “This is new.”

Ren struggled wildly, snarling and spitting. 

And then his body when limp and still. Strade’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. He pushed his boot down harder, checking to make sure Ren wasn’t playing possum. There was no reaction, so Strade nudged the fox over with the toe of his boot. He was out cold.

Strade waited, watching. Nothing happened. He got to his knees, and picked up Ren’s wrist. He held two fingers to it, and found the pulse. Last, Strade leaned over, ear just above Ren’s mouth. His fox was breathing. 

Strade continued to frown. He was concerned. Maybe Ren was sick. This was bad timing. He had a show he needed to start soon. He picked up Ren, who was still limp, and slung him over his back. Certainly, Ren could wake up and start biting, but Strade wanted to act quickly and keep his eye on him. Strade carried the fox upstairs to that sparse room, and hooked his collar to the wall on a long chain. Then he tied Ren’s hands together behind his back, then his ankles. Last, Strade put a ball gag on him. If Ren really wanted to, he could bite is way out of the rope around his ankles and wrists. Then, he could undo the gag himself. But that would take time, and energy. And Strade had a show to put on, and some meat to save for later. 

He bolted the door on the way out. This could wait.

The show was, as usual, well received. The meat was packed away. What was left was shoved into the kiln. Strade hosed down the concrete, the remaining gore going down the drain in the middle of the room. He did about everything he could before going back to that bedroom. If Ren was sick, he might have to kill him. Strade didn’t want to, but he would. If it came to that.

He paused as the door, listening. He didn’t hear anything, so he unbolted it, and entered. Ren looked like he was sleeping in the exact same position Strade had left him in. Strade took out his bowie knife, and approached. Ren remained still. Strade tapped his toe against Ren’s sternum. Ren groaned around the ball gag, eyes opening slowly. He looked at Strade’s foot, then up. There was a beat before his eyes lit up in their usual panic, and he struggled paltrily against his restraints. His tail bristled, and his ears pinched back.

Yes, this was more typical. 

Strade lifted Ren up by his hair, his knife still out and ready. He smiled his wide smile, and his voice was soft and friendly. “You are awake!” And then he frowned. “You feeling alright, Ren? Getting enough food? Sleeping?” 

Ren’s fear softened just enough for his ears to raise a fraction. He was confused. He made a meep that came out as a whine around the gag. Saliva dripped down his chin. Strade lowered Ren to the ground, leaving him sitting up. 

“Not sick?”

Ren made another noise, and shook his head. 

Strade frowned, standing. He sheathed his knife, and walked out of the room, locking it behind him. He waited half a day before getting a glass of water from the tap, and going back in. Ren was sleeping. He had circles under his eyes, and all his restraints were still in place. 

Good.

Strade reached around Ren’s head and unbuckled the gag. Ren stirred awake bristling up in fear when registered Strade in front of him. Strade set the gag down. “Better?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Ren said quietly. His eyebrows were drawn up in worry. He shifted his shoulders, then opened his jaw. It cracked. Strade helped his fox into a kneeling position, and held up the glass of water, which Ren drank from. 

Strade gave Ren’s head a pat, and ran his fingers through Ren’s hair. “Are you ready to tell me what is wrong?” 

“No. I mean,” Ren’s pupils narrowed in fear as Strade grabbed a fist full of hair. “No I don’t. Know what’s wrong.”

Strade pulled out his knife, and Ren started to babble. “I’m sorry! I don’t know! I don’t know!” He winced in pain as Strade made the first cut across his shoulder, keeping it shallow. He could stich Ren up later—had many times. But if he could keep Ren here longer, then that would be good.

He liked his fox. He liked how hard Ren tried to please—like not pulling away from the knife even when those whimpers of pain made it obvious that it hurt. 

Ren always reacted so quickly. 

The tears hit the cuts on Ren’s chest, muddling the red.

Whatever that moment had been in the kitchen didn’t matter, when Strade could keep making Ren come undone. Over. And over. And over.

Strade leaned forward, and bit down on Ren’s ear, the taste of copper filling his mouth. He was hard. He sheathed his knife, and fumbled with his pants as Ren continued to cry beneath. His dick pushed against Ren’s face as he once more took out his knife, and reached around to cut away at the ropes binding the fox. He was deliberately sloppy freeing Ren, catching skin as well as rope. And yet, for all the blithe release, Strade stored his knife away in the instance Ren was freed.

Ren’s arms fell loosely to the floor. His hands were shaking.

Strade grabbed his hair again, and Ren jumped to action. He opened his mouth and grasped Strade’s prick, stroking it even as his hands shook.

The faster Ren got Strade off, the less it would hurt.

Ren gagged and coughed, pulling back just enough before Strade’s grip firmed, and held him in place.

“You’re eager tonight,” Strade noted, groaning.

Too eager, Ren knew. Strade rocked into his throat, and Ren gagged again. He dropped his hands from Strade’s dick, nails biting into Strade’s thighs, as he tried to let it happen.

He was quite skilled at letting it happen.

When Strade came, he shoved himself in Ren’s mouth, and down his throat, bottoming out—keeping Ren in place. Ren’s eyes opened in panic anew as he silently suffocated. He felt the spunk pool around the back of his throat—and then his grip on Strade’s thighs loosen as he lost consciousness.

He came to on his back, Strade pinning him, Strade with a hand over his mouth. Air came in and went out rapidly through his nose. It wasn’t enough. He was still so light-headed.

“Swallow,” Strade said. 

And Ren did, meekly, with difficulty. The first small swallow made him cough, and that cough stopped at his cheeks. He swallowed again, harder. And once more. 

He inhaled deeply as Strade moved his hand away, and ruffled Ren’s hair gently. “I’m glad you are alright,” Strade said, friendly and pleased. He stood. 

Ren slowly found his senses again. The cuts hurt. His throat hurt. His wrists and ankles hurt.

And at the same time, he was so very hungry. 

Strade left. 

Ren saw a half-full glass of water on the floor. He reached for it, and took small sips, working his throat carefully.

He jumped when Strade came back, fur on end. For as exhausted as Ren was, he was still terrified.

Ren jumped again as Strade gently placed a plate in front of him. There was a liver on it. It was fresh, though not the kind of warm that came from just cut meat. 

Strade was smiling that smile that was frighteningly approving. Ren didn’t want to look up to see it—he knew it was there. “Eat.” It was said with just enough edge that Ren knew he had to accept.

If Ren had eaten in the last day, he would have thrown up as Strade fucked his face. But stomach was too empty to do more than ache. 

It was bloody and bitter, and just a bit sweet. Its jelly-like texture was so smooth that it didn’t hurt Ren’s throat. It was delicious. And he was tired enough that he didn’t have the energy to think about who it had come from. It was delicious.

Then Ren slept for a day--and Strade let him.

Strade watched Ren over the next few days. Ren was normal Ren. And Strade wrote off what had happened in the kitchen as a lapse in Ren’s sanity. It happened to those he brought to his basement, sometimes. It made sense that it would rise up in Ren. Most importantly, it had not seemed to stick. So it was fine.


	2. In Which Ren bows out, and Raven makes more mistakes

The lesson Ren was reminding himself, was that you couldn’t trust ghosts. He’d seen a few before. Usually, they lurked in the basement only briefly post mortem. It was Strade’s territory, and even the dead couldn’t intrude. And more importantly, they of all people wouldn’t want to.

But Raven was different. So different, that Ren still wasn’t sure she was a ghost, even though he knew she had to be one. What else could she be? 

The first time they met had been in a dream, a surprisingly pleasant one. Ren had walked through an empty city built high and in chrome. He had that same dream twice more before he saw Raven in the city, and then once more before he met her. He thought, at first, that she was some kind of dreamwalker, that he was being made to be owned or eaten by another predator. 

He would have been alright with that. 

“Hello,” Raven said. Appearing suddenly, but in a way that felt that she had already been there. Ren was a nervous creature by nature, but Raven didn’t set off any red flags. Probably because he wasn’t looking hard enough for them. 

“You’re the…fox,” Raven said. 

“And you’re a ghost.” 

Her curious expression turned sad, though only for a moment. If Ren hadn’t been primed and tuned for picking up the smallest hint of different emotions (all the more ready to duck, if possible), he might have missed it. 

“Ghost…Yes, I think I am. Do you like my city?” 

“It’s very nice,” Ren said, a guest complimenting a host. He did not want to be rude. And these dreams were nice ones. It was so rare for him to see something so colorful and real. It was a dream, not real. But for what his life was, it may as well have been neither and both. 

“Would you like to visit again?” Raven asked. “I think I can let you.” 

He was so lonely in the waking world, of course he’d said yes. 

On different visits, Raven showed him museums and parks and the general cityscape. And he could forget what was waiting for him in the real world while he slept. 

It was too good to be true. 

Sometimes, Raven wasn’t there in the city. Sometimes, he would wake up in a place where he hadn’t fallen asleep. 

He found the blue pendant in his blanket nest, and knew it was Raven. 

And then he woke up, bound. He thought Strade might have been trying something new. But Strade wanted reactions from his things, so this didn’t make sense. 

He fell asleep and searched out for Raven, and didn’t find her in her city. 

Then Strade woke him up, and asked him questions that seemed too specific to be Strade’s usual banter. 

Ren had known for a while that Raven had been borrowing his body, on some level. He hadn’t cared. If she wanted to suffer instead of him, that was fine. But she’d done something to set Strade off. 

It was punishment then, for trusting her. Strade was a master Ren knew. Raven was a foreign invader. 

“I’m sorry,” Raven had told him, once he slept again. “Strade attacked me, and I reacted.” 

“You shouldn’t have done that! How long have you been stealing my body for?” 

“It’s normal, you know, to defend yourself when someone attacks you.” 

Ren didn’t talk to her anymore after that. He’d dreamed of the city and closed his eyes, trying to dream another dream. After a while, he didn’t find himself there anymore. 

It was surprisingly lonely, not having her to talk to, even if it was only in his dreams. If not for that blue pendant that once again found itself back into his nest, Ren might have thought he’d imagined the whole thing. 

Strade had left for a hunt; Ren knew the signs. He was always chipper the day of, before the night came, and yet unsettled in anticipation. Ren wondered if that eagerness showed once Strade was out. The fox didn’t remember seeing it when Strade had snatched him. 

It meant at least a day, if not 2 or 3, of rest for Ren. That rest could end quickly and painfully, but it would be enjoyed in the meantime. So Ren went to the kitchen, and made sandwich after sandwich. There was a heart that needed to get eaten. And a loaf of bread. And a head of broccoli. Weird that a plant had found its way into the house in a not Take-Out form. 

The front door slammed open, and Ren’s flight-or-fight instinct fixed onto freeze. Ren heard a woman laughing with Strade. But Strade never brought them in conscious.

And then there were words, German words from both parties. And it seemed like Strade wanted this one around longer. 

Ren was still stuck in ‘freeze’ as the two of them stumbled into the kitchen, arm in arm. She saw Ren first, and gave a startled gasp. “You have a son?” she asked, slurred, and heavily accented, “And…furry?” 

Ren’s gaze went to Strade’s face—he knew that dark expression, and didn’t move as Strade’s stance changed, and he shifted her around so he had more leverage. He said something soft, only above a whisper, and led her to the basement door. 

“Wait here,” Strade said firmly to Ren as the two of them walked by. 

Between heartbeats, Ren heard them descend the stairs, then the struggle, and the yelling, and the thuds, and blows. She was swearing now, angry and not yet scared. That would change soon. 

And Ren waited, hoping Strade would stay down there, knowing he wouldn’t. He started to tremble as he heard the footsteps on the stairs again. 

“I can go for you.” Ren jumped in surprise at the sound of Raven’s voice. He’d heard it in his head. That hadn’t happened before. 

Strade looked out from the door, smiling. “Ren, come here.” 

Ren walked across the kitchen, wanting to do anything but that. Strade’s hand fell to his shoulder and guided him down the stairs. 

“You know it’s going to be bad this time,” Raven said, like it wasn’t bad every time. “Let me do it for you.” 

The woman was strapped to a table, her right arm strapped down by the shoulder and the elbow. She shut up suddenly, going from fear, to disbelieve. “Joking of course,” she said. Her eyebrows were still worried though. 

“Not joking,” Strade responded, putting a hand onto Ren’s shoulder. The man brandished an axe where all three people could see it, and it was Ren’s turn to be terrified. It was one thing to be fucked on a corpse, to be fed them. It was another thing to make them. Strade held out the axe for Ren, and he took it. He was shaking. 

“If you cut off her arm, then you can go,” Strade said simply. These were the rules then. Ren had promised to do whatever Strade had asked the first time he’d found himself in the basement. Strade had kept to that promise. And it had kept Ren alive. 

Strade took a few steps back. Ren could feel him waiting. 

Ren shook. He looked down at the woman. “Please no. You do not. Please,” she said. And Ren started to cry. Why hadn’t he left the kitchen when he heard Strade come in? Why had he spent so long in the kitchen in the first place? Why hadn’t he brought the food upstairs like he should have? 

“Let me,” Raven said, over the internal self-castigating monologue Ren had in his head. “Let me do it for you. I’ll make it quick.” 

It was so easy to let her. 

One second, Ren was in the basement, holding the weight of the axe up with difficulty, struggling against his own shaking hands, trying to figure out how he could cut quickly and true, and not mangle the woman more than he needed to…

And then he was in the city. Alone. He knew where Raven was. And yet, the anxiety lifted from his chest so quickly. Perhaps he would try to sleep here. That would be nice. He wandered to a park he remembered, and laid down on the grass. It felt like lying in grass, and even smelled like grass. Green and fresh and alive. 

He waited. 

~~~

Strade was gleefully watching and waiting for his fox to act. The woman was crying, Ren was crying. And soon there would be blood. 

But then Ren went still, and adjusted his grip. And the woman too was transfixed by the change that had come over him. 

“Close your eyes,” Ren commanded. 

_Ren? Commanding?_

Strade had all of five seconds to be surprised by that before Ren swung the axe, planting it into the woman’s head, splitting it open, blood spraying. Ren planted a foot down on the table, and wrenched the axe up. The body twitched, and he hacked at the skull again. And again. Swish. Thud. Wrench. Swish. Thud. Wrench. Ren had turned what was the head into a well-fractured skull in a stew of brain matter and blood. 

Strade thought the fox would just keep going, but then, as suddenly as his change in demeanor, he stopped, wrenching out one final time. Ren stared at his work for a moment, the axe dangling at his side, before turning. His expression was dark and tired, his front side covered in blood spray, and if Strade didn’t know better, he would almost expect Ren to turn on him next. 

Instead, Ren held out the axe for Strade to take. “I’m finished,” he said, his tone flat. Strade took the axe, and Ren started for the stairs, before Strade stopped the fox, blocking his path by holding out the axe. 

“I told you to cut off her arm.” 

Faster than Strade had seen him move, Ren had grabbed the axe and turned back to the corpse, cutting off the arm with one final thud, the blood pooling out slowly this time. The arm hit the ground hand first, then rolled down to the bicep. Ren left the axe in the table, and turned to leave again. 

Strade burst out laughing. “Good follow up.” And then, his tone much darker, “But what am I going to do with my night?” 

Ren stiffened, waiting, afraid. Good. That was better. 

“What do you think,” Strade asked, hand on his fox’s head, petting him gently for the moment, “A whip or a cane?” 

There was a pause in that moment, the question sinking in as Strade’s petting turned into aggressive scratching. 

“Whip,” Ren said, and Strade took a hand full of his hair, pulling him across the basement, and throwing him face down onto the corpse, his legs scrambling for purchase. 

Strade made quick work of cutting away Ren’s clothes, and then leaned down for a mouth full of neck, tasting blood. “Stay there,” he said, going for his whip. It took him a moment to find it. It left people too intact for his preference, but sometimes it was requested on his shows. It would make for a good signal whip to remind his fox to stay in line. 

Ren was still in the same position, tense and ready. Strade ran the whip lightly down Ren’s back, savoring the anticipation, and the way Ren flinched each time he lifted it up, only to gently let it drop again. 

Crack. 

A red line appeared across Ren’s ass, bright against the paleness of his skin. It was enough of a beauty that Strade was off: crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, adding to the crosshatching until his arm stiffened from use just for a moment, and he stopped to admire it. Ren was trembling. And yet…and yet, he was…silent. It was so unusual that Strade hadn’t been able to place it. He took a handful of Ren’s hair, and pulled out his knife, cutting Ren’s shoulder. Ren hissed in pain, though barely. 

“You know I like to know how you’re feeling,” Strade said, making a cut on his thigh through the red stripes. Ren hissed louder. Strade frowned, sheathed his knife, and brought down the whip again on the latest cut. And, finally, Ren cried out. 

“Better. Did you want me to cut you up tonight? Is the whip not enough for you?” He ran the whip lightly up Ren’s back, and let the threat sink in before he started whipping again, moving up Ren, from calves to upper back, and then around in places that looked untreated. Ren was making noises now, yes, but they were quieter sobs, and grunting exhales. The message somehow, still hadn’t gotten through. 

Strade frowned, and pushed his hair back, watching as Ren continued to tremble. Maybe he needed a few days down in the basement to relearn his place. Strade walked to the cabinets to fish out rope, pulled Ren’s hands back, and tied his wrists together. Ren _struggled_ , though it amounted to little more that wiggling back into Strade instead of against the corpse. Perhaps he knew what was coming. Once Ren’s wrists were tied, Strade pulled him up by the hair again, and threw him down on the ground, next to the post that he kept all his victims tethered to. Ren’s glasses flew off, and clattered somewhere off into the darkness of the basement. 

It was only then with the new vantage point, that Strade noticed how flushed Ren had become, and not merely his punished backside. Now that Ren was not face down on a corpse, Strade could Ren’s blown pupils, and that he was semi-erect. 

That was new. 

Strade gave a loud laugh. Yes, this here was why he kept Ren around. There were always good surprises to be had for this long-term toy. 

“ _Mein fuchs_ ,” he murmured. “Would you like to keep playing?” 

Ren reluctantly nodded. His full body blush was visible even against the blood.

“Tell me,” Strade said. 

“Please,” Ren said. “Please hurt me more.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Whipping inspired by Eleanor "Fanny"](http://fannythepaddle.tumblr.com/post/152350624863/so-i-know-this-picture-isnt-the-usual-light) and [axe application inspired by Gato](http://gurobob.tumblr.com/post/136424280600/more-fox-and-strade-plz#notes)\--tho liberties were taken with sizing.


	3. In Which Raven both enjoys and hates Strade's company

It was so easy, falling into the submissive trance that had kept Raven alive for as long as she had been. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered if this Strade could be worked the same way as her Strade. But it wouldn’t be her body she’d be risking if he were different enough, if her cries of pain and ecstasy brought about a different reaction. That thought had kept her biting her tongue as Strade beat her. She had seen him strangle people to death while fucking them, cut new holes into them and cum inside as they sobbed weakly knowing that they were dying. He seemed too unpredictable a beast to be worth the risk.

Her Strade had been smooth and elegant, and well put together. She had met him off duty, and he had been so charming, so fucking charming. He knew how to groom himself. He wasn’t the down to earth buddy of everyone that was Earth Strade, but elevated and posh. He reached out to you in a way that made you seem worthy of the attention. After the war, he would have been on a fast track to becoming a well-loved politician.

That he was a rough fuck was a wonderful surprise to Raven. But then slowly, the aggressive exchanges turned rather one-sided. Bruises and wounds could be explained away with the war they were fighting. It was so easy to become the obedient pain slut that Strade wanted her to be. And his bloodlust was sated by combat, so he never hurt her too bad. Not really. Not until the end.

In the months of watching Earth Strade, Raven wondered if she could have made a difference if she had reported her Strade, if his reincarnation wouldn’t have resulted in this monster. Earth Strade had enlisted too, but he, apparently, wanted something more personal and intimate than repeated slaughter. Ren was alive because he managed to continually tip the scale toward basic lust and amusement while his Strade tortured others. But this Strade didn’t have to worry about the eyes of others catching him through the evidence of Ren, and was prone to flights of murder, so she tried to stay silent. Better to take more punishment and keep Ren alive.

Raven didn’t fit into Ren so seamlessly. The scars and ache he carried was all too familiar. The tails and ears were…off. She had guessed that having a dick would have been a disconnect, but it surprisingly wasn’t. Still, being in Ren’s body was like grabbing the wrong sweater. It kept her warm, and she could grow used to it, but it wasn’t hers. And she knew if Ren pulled back, she wouldn’t be able to stay. 

The need to satisfy Strade as quickly as possible was encoded into Ren’s skin—even if she hadn’t remembered. She could only hold back her response for so long. And once Strade knew, once he was looking at her evident reaction…

“Tell me,” Strade said, staring down at her, eyes full of a familiar predatory lust.

“Please,” Raven said. “Hurt me more.” She struggled a bit against the bonds tying her hands behind her back, her arms rubbing against the cuts and welts Strade had gifted her—punishment for her apparent obstinacy, for taking away his amusement. She leaned into the pain, and felt herself growing hard. It was a new sensation, a muscle slowly clenching and growing warm.

Strade bent down and kissed her, his tongue invading her mouth, claiming her. She moaned and rutted up against him, looking for friction. He bit down on her lip, and she tasted blood. Her moan echoed loud in the basement. Strade stopped biting her lip, grabbed a fist full of hair, retched her head back, and bit down on her neck. She felt blood stream down her collarbone, and she gasped and panted. 

It hurt, and it felt so good to feel again.

As Strade released his bite again, he flipped Raven over and cut the rope tying her hands together. They dropped bonelessly down to the floor before she could bring them around them in front of her to brace herself. Instead of the immediate penetration she was expecting, Strade raked his fingernails down her back, across welt after welt after welt. She hissed in pain, her body going ridged. 

She swore in her own language. Strade either didn’t care, or took it for incoherent babbling. He raked his nails down Raven’s back twice more. She screamed and swore and panted, trying to catch her breath. There was so much pain, and it felt so good.

It burned when Strade shoved himself into her, pushing in against the strain of displacement and a lack of preparation. This burning from friction hurt in a way she wasn’t familiar with. It flicked the switch between enjoying the pain and suffering for it. She saw her hands on the ground in front of her, with their claws, and knew they weren’t her hands. Tears fell down her face freely, and she sobbed as Strade fucked her relentlessly. She had to be bleeding.

“Please,” she said, hoping that the words would get him to finish faster. “Please, Strade.”

He took one hand from her hips, and smacked her ass, across the welts, flaring her enjoyment of the pain back up, distracting her from the burning wound inside. She clenched down in response, and so he hit her again, and again, bruising her already abused backside.

It was wet when he came in her, still fucking her, riding out the orgasm. Then he stopped fucking her, still inside her, balls deep. He lifted her up off the ground, her back to his front, and he bit down on her ear. It took Raven’s remaining energy to only whimper. She knew if she screamed or moaned like he wanted, that he’d start up again. Or just continue to hurt her. Instead, he pulled out, and she felt her abused hole, Ren’s abused hole, close without clenching, gaping, feeling so empty.

Strade dropped her, and she fell to the ground, breathing raggedly, tired and spent. She could hear flesh tearing and being cut behind her. He was butchering the corpse she had made. She had seen him do it many times, but it was different when she had made the corpse, when she’d been fucked and beaten into near unconsciousness, when she was observing it through the senses of a living body. 

She wanted to quickly flee the basement, and instead, crawled over to the stairs, standing into a stoop, and using the railing to slowly ascend, one hand in front of the next, one foot up to the next step, then next foot joining it. Slowly. Creeping. Away.

She sat in bottom of the bathroom tub, willing her borrowed body to uncurl, convincing it that it was okay. Because right now, it was. With shaky hands she turned the shower on. It was icy cold, at first, and she barely noticed. It warmed up, and she numbly felt her back and legs and neck and lip stinging, throbbing, sore.

There was a bar of soap, surprisingly, in the wall-indented soap dish. Raven gripped it firmly, and lathered it over her arms and legs and chest and whatever she could reach of her back, lathering and cleaning the body like it would take away the revulsion that permeated her own skin. No, not hers, Ren’s. This was his body.

There was a light red streak running through the water and down the drain. Raven stared at Ren’s claws, and opted for draping over the lid of the tub and squatting and pushing, trying to ignore the fact that she was still half hard.

She shat out cum and blood in spurts, and felt the same familiar disgust with herself that came after each time she and her Strade had fucked at the end of their time together. And, inevitably, she reached down to the unfamiliar arrangement, remembering the blows of the whip and the cuts of the knife and the bites and the fucking. 

And after she finished (hard and quickly, not long and drawn out), she did another once over of soap. And then sat and waited, until the water started to get cold again.

Maybe she would go to sleep and visit Ren. Would he ask what had happened? Could she apologize for how badly it went? Would he accept that?

She found a towel, and wrapped it around her, up to her chin. She was hunched over, again, her whole being a throbbing ache, and crept slowly from the bathroom. She’d found Ren’s “bedroom” while looking for the bathroom, and was on her way back there—back to the pile of blankets, to rest, to dream—when she felt a hand on her head, and flinched. 

“Hello, _Mein fuchs._ ” She was bracing herself, strung tightly, when Strade lifted her, and hoisted her over his shoulder. He was humming something, and she was terrified, waiting for whatever came next. He walked down the stairs, and took her into his bedroom. She let out a hard exhale of breath that she had been holding when Strade tossed her onto his bed. She trembled, waiting, as he kicked off his shoes, and unbuttoned his shirt. And he climbed into his bed, and pulled Raven up against his stomach, spooning her. 

Raven waited.

And waited.

And then felt Strade snoring against the top of her head, felt the rise and fall of his chest behind her. Even though Raven knew she was safe while Strade slept, she couldn’t let herself drift off, let Ren’s body uncoil and get the rest it needed. 

He still smelled awful: sweat and sex and blood and gore and that smell that was undeniably Strade. Her Strade smelled like too. 

He had also been, incredibly surprisingly, a cuddler.

She’d been afraid of her Strade, and was afraid of this one as well. But that one had kept her under his thumb. This one didn’t even know she existed.

Which was exactly how she needed it to be. Raven had been plotting and waiting for a while now. As long as Ren stayed alive, she would wait as long as she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Raven didn't seem to experience gender or body dysphoria in Farz's body, I'm going to assume that it is more "some bodies work better than others." Entering Sid seemed to involve screaming? So, Ren's body is easier than that, but still not the 'right body.'


	4. In which Raven enjoys Strade's company, and Strade hates hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The torture begins.

Raven came to in the mental projection of her home city. She felt the ghosts of feelings that were in a body she was no longer in control of. She paced her breathing. Shouldn't she have been used to it? Shouldn't Ren's body?

She was on a hill. In a park. Laying on grass. She was safe here.

”Raven!” exclaimed Ren. He ran down the hill to greet her, and stopped short of touching her. He was panting (He didn't need to. This was a dream.) and his eyebrows were screwed up with worry. “Are you okay?”

She had been gone for days. Ren had started to worry that something had happened, but knew that she had to have been alright, because her city was still there. He never asked her what had happened, and he seemed genuinely happy that she was okay. He still let her have moments in his body, so she was able to continue with her plan.

She'd gone through Ren's memories, looked for how this world worked, and then started checking pockets and purses of Strade's victims. Someone had to have drugs on them, the right kind. She made a collection, and tested them out. She was careful about the timing. It had to be perfect. She had to know it was the right thing, but couldn't risk Strade deciding that he wanted _something_ in the middle of a bad trip. And there were bad trips.

When she found what she was looking for, it wasn't the worse trip. She felt confused first, a bit drunk, then she flopped over boneless and couldn't move. She was nauseous and drowsy. And then there was a gap of time she'd missed. Luckily she came too at the same place she's fallen down on. 

Now all she had to do was wait for the right time. Ren cooked for Strade a lot: potatoes and various meats. It was easy to get him a beer and spike it. (The second one. She'd almost lost her nerve with the first one.)

Strade was being a cuddly drunk that night, keeping “Ren” near as he watched nature documentaries. His breathing started getting lighter, his grip looser. He did not seem to struggle against it. Perhaps he thought he was just drunk.

She could have just slit his throat on the couch, or strangled him. He'd just stop right there, and never get up again.

Getting him down the stairs took some dragging. Raven chained him to that fucking pole, and checked, and checked, and checked to make sure that he would not be able to escape. 

She'd swiped the remote from Strade's pocket and freed the collar. It hit the ground with a thud. It felt easier to breath, and she massaged Ren's neck. She did not think Strade had even ever had to use it on the fox, though he probably had just for the fuck of it.

Then came more waiting.

She sat on the bottom most stair, and considered. It seemed fitting to have Ren do the deed. But would he even be able to? Didn't she want her own revenge? Would this feel like revenge if it just this one? Was that enough?

A thought came to her, and she put a bit gag on Strade. Then she waited more. She looked over his many, many tools, and debated. She would need to wait for the moment to decide. Yes. That felt right.

He came to slowly, and groggily. She held one of his knives tightly, and held her breath. Then came the shuffling, and the grunting, and the muffled angry words. She looked across the basement, and their eyes met. His were full of bestial rage as he yelled. Even with the gag, she still knew he was calling out, verbally attacking Ren. If he had said her name, if it had been her Strade...No. Ren would have to wait. Maybe he could take the finishing blow.

It took a while for her fear to mellow, for the _caged_ part of caged animal to sink into her mind. Strade was thoroughly bound. She, Ren, would absolutely be dead if Strade got out. There was no backing out. Not that she planned on doing that, but the thought helped lower her fear all the more.

She turned back to the tool selection as Strade continued snarling. Strade usually spent day 1 with a knife unless he'd just gotten some new tool. Did Ren see what he'd brought home last time? ….she checked over his memories: no. Ren wisely avoided Strade as much as possible, and certainly wasn't taking inventory. 

She knew she was being indecisive. Now that she'd finally gotten what she wanted, she did not know what to do with it.

It was quiet, she realized. She turned around to look at Strade. His face was still screwed up in fury, and he was breathing hard. He would start up again, but if he wore himself out before she started anything, then that would be dull.

“How's your head?” she asked numbly, the words falling out of her mouth before she realized it. Strade frowned, and she continued, “I had to find something to knock you out. When I tried it on myself, I woke up with a headache. I guess that's the least of your worries now...” She trailed off as he scowled again.

Strade was trembling. Probably with anger and not fear, but it was...a good look for him. Raven felt that new sensation building as she grew hard. It was inconvenient, with how she'd tied Strade to the post. Maybe tomorrow.

She met his gaze, and hardened her expression as much as possible. “I'm going to take off your clothes. If you let me be nice about it, I won't hurt you to do it.” She tilted her head a bit, trying to get a read off him. His expression did not change. 

She walked across the basement, their eyes still locked. Strade stayed still as she crept closer. Her gaze flitted between his eyes and his shoes, her first goal. She was careful, but coiled and ready. She was absolutely certain that Strade was going to kick out, and would be quite happy to retaliate when he did. What was another bruise?

She slowly reached for his boot, and untied a knot. His face was still angry and savage, yet he himself stayed still. She loosened laces, slowly, slowly. It was only as she was pulling to take his boot off that he kicked her, one-two. The first hit the side of her face. She assumed, by the pain that greeted her when she came to, that the other was across Ren's chest.

Strade was, of course, still tied up. Short of gnawing off his own arms, there was no way for him to get free. He was still trying though, as she sat up and did a mental inventory. She'd been worse when she was still alive. Ren's body remembered being worse. 

Strade started making words again, and she really wasn't in the mood to listen. She circled him, and place the collar around his neck. She did not plan on keeping him, but it would work. To stop him as needed.

She pushed the button for only a second. Strade went twitchy and rigid, and she took off his shoes without any other problems. As his eyes started to focus, she cut off his clothes with a knife. Sloppily. Just as she'd seen him do so many times. He made weak involuntary whines as he came to. As Raven pulled away the last of the fabrics with a rip, she pressed a finger down on one of the nicks. Strade jerked to.

“Awake again,” she noted out loud. “What to do now. Our first attempt went badly.” Their eyes locked again. Strade was still angry, still fighting. He needed to suffer more, and actually be around to feel it. She needed to figure out how to get to him. Around, clearly. From behind. She had hoped to see the look in his eyes as he fell. Maybe she would. Just not yet. She put on a pair of thick gloves, and pulled out the soldering iron. She showed it to him. He froze briefly, and started struggling more. She plugged in an extension chord, and walked the long way around the room, keeping the chord well outside of Strade's reach. He continued to struggle as she turned it on. It was so small, just pen-sized, and it heated up quickly.

Strade's skin sizzled as it burned. It smelled like overcooked meat. And finally, finally, he cried out in pain. Raven felt the blood pooling in her body as Strade tried and failed to stay quiet. Not yet, she told herself. Not now. There was time left. She worked purposefully slowly, tattooing a heart onto his upper back. Smoke rose from the burn. It was so small, but a satisfying start. She took off a glove, and pushed a finger to it. Strade made a muffled cough of pain.

Better.

Raven circled Strade, grabbed a knife, and circled back. “I'm going to cut out the burned flesh now. We both know it won't heal.” Strade breathed sharply. As she gently and slowly dug in, Raven understood why scalpels were a thing. Too bad Strade didn't have any. She slowly broke the skin, and tried to cut under the burnt part. It wasn't easy.

Strade had made the sloppy work look so effortless.

His breathing picked up, and he tried not to scream. Each time a whimper would make it past his clenched teeth, Raven throbbed. She lifted the vaguely heart shaped flap of skin, and looked at the red beneath it. “Oh, not everything,” she noted. She place the flesh between Ren's lips and held it there. She made a passing scrape on Strade's raw flesh. Strade finally, loudly, cried out in pain.

Raven made a whine herself, and let her head drop onto Strade back. They both took a moment to breath.

Strade was still panting when Raven circled back around. She smiled and held the heart out. “Appetizer,” she said, placing the flesh on her tongue, and then chewing. It felt right, to eat that. Maybe it was from watching Strade. Maybe it was something in Ren's body. The blistered flesh was very chewy, so she was able to savor the mastication.

“Time for a patch up, I think,” she said out loud. She went to the first-aid kit, and did inventory. It was surprisingly well stocked. She tapped into Ren's well of knowledge to figure out what was it. “So...primative,” she noted.

She swallowed.

Strade hissed as she poured alcohol down his back. Then Raven set down gauze, and gently, so gently, taped over it. Strade's breathing turned shallow. Last, she placed a waterproof patch over it. She did not want it falling off.

She slowly traced the heart shape beneath the bandages. She had done that. She had hurt Strade. It was such a small amount of damage. And yet it felt good. She rut into him once, leaned forward, and bit his ear.

“I kind of get why you do it,” she said, just getting breathy. She pulled back, and stood up. She considered it a moment, and then walked in front of Strade directly. He did not kick out. Though it might have only been because the action was unexpected.

He looked so tired already, his eyes sunk, his skin all covered in goosebumps under sweat. “I'm going to take your gag off now, so you can rest your jaw.”

She went through a list of thing she could do if he tried to bite her. Instead, he spat out the gag. “You've made your point Ren,” he said lamely.

Raven ignored the comment. Instead she said her name--not Raven, but what had been her name—looking for a spark of familiarity from him. He didn't even look up.

“Ren,” he said, “let me out.” he thrashed once, twice, and Raven jumped back. He jerked around on his chains, and roared.

It would have been more satisfying if he remembered. Still, it wasn't as though he did not deserve this.

“Sleep well, Strade,” she said, turning away. He was still struggling in the dark as she turned off the lights and closed the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally had 4 chapters planned, but this is clearly going to have more.


	5. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven continues to work on Strade, and in spite of the pain, he is not yielding.

Raven jerked off once before she went to sleep.

She dreamed of her city, and saw Ren there, on their hill. He was all smiles, and peace. It wouldn't do him good to stay un-tethered from his body for so long. But it would only be a few days, surely. Raven did not think she would be able to hold back very long if today, just the little bit it had been, had set her off so much. 

“There's someone new in the basement,” she said, she told Ren.

His smile disappeared. “So we'll be alright for a few days?” he asked hopefully. That's usually how it went. He would want to be back in his body for the safe time.

“I don't think this one's going to last long,” Raven said coolly. “Strade's...” she waved a hand, searching for the right word. Something honest, though certainly misleading. She decided on, “...aggressive.”

“Oh.” Ren's ears drooped, and he wrapped his tail around himself. “He usually likes to focus on one person at a time. But...” he trailed off, leaving a question.

Raven reached a hand up, and touched her head. “He was quite 'focused' on me before I fell asleep.”

Ren fidgeted, frowning widely.

Before he could respond, Raven followed up with, “I'll take the risk if you'll let me. I'm enjoying myself.”

“Oh!” he was surprised. He was always so surprised when she made that offer. Perhaps he really was tired of the pain that came with living in his own body. Or maybe visiting this dream city, for all that feeling was a phantom of itself, was a softer existence.

In the morning, Raven made breakfast, and left the dirty dishes in the sink.

Strade slept through her turning the lights on, and her walk down the stairs. There were circles under his eyes—he was still sleeping, needed it. Raven set down the plate of breakfast, and stepped lightly around his body. She eyed the chains: still there. Good. He wouldn't have stayed in the basement if he managed to get free though. Still, it was worth checking.

She leaned down and sniffed—Ren's nose was better than hers. Sweat and grease and fear and exhaustion. She leaned down further, and bit down on Strade's neck. He woke with a start, flailing. His reaction made her pull back. Maybe it for the best. She could have bit down more.

“I made breakfast,” Raven said, standing up. Strade turned his head left and right, looking for her behind him. She walked widely so he could not kick her, and went to the plate of eggs and sausage. “I'll feed them to you, if you behave.”

She picked up and plate, and glared down, meeting Strade's glare up. 

“Or you could go hungry,” she offered. Her tone stayed even. Either choice made no difference to her.

There was a moment, Strade's eyebrows drawn down, Raven trying to look bored, before she tried once more. “Nod if you'll behave.”

Just before Raven decided on having a second breakfast now or later, Strade nodded.

She froze, then smiled briefly. Either or, breakfast or none for Strade, it would not change was lay ahead. But she liked him like this. “Okay.”

She could have undone the buckle for the gag in front of him, a first taste, but she didn't want to get too close too soon. Besides, if he wasn't going to behave, she would know soon enough. 

She speared the egg's yolk with a fork, watching the yellow spill out and smearing it around, before cutting into the egg-white, making a triangle.

“Open.” She waited. Strade contemplated the order, then obeyed. Raven placed the egg gently on his tongue, staring. Her gaze was cold, Strade's was sharp, and hateful. She waited for Strade to close his lips around the fork, before slowly pulling her hand back.

Huh. She expected Strade to clench the fork between his teeth, some small act of defiance. He wanted to, she knew. And yet.

Strade swallowed, and his gaze flickered away from Raven's for just a moment. “I can eat bigger bites,” he stated. 

She waited for him to look away again before cutting the sausage, smearing it in yolk. She held it up,and Strade took it, bequeathing the fork back without protest. 

With each bite, Strade's gaze turned further, and further down, until he was only glancing up to look at the fork and find his next bite. Grease ran down his chin. Bits of food peppered his chest.

The last bite was the circle of the yolk, a curve resting on Strade's lip, before he finagled it into his mouth.

Raven put down the plate, and brought up a knife. She considered its weight in Ren's grip. He was weaker than she had been. She'd been military. She had been trained, even if she'd hoped to never need to....then. But Ren's body could still do what she needed it to do.

She brought the knife down in front of Strade, a gesture so very much like feeding him at been, that Strade opened his mouth just a bit, just a fraction of his patterned reaction. It was only a bit though, and remained such once he realized what was in front of him.

“Open,” Raven said. Strade hesitated, and she pushed the tip of the knife down on his lip, teasing him to open his mouth further. Knife scraped teeth, and he stopped, and she cut his lip pushing his mouth further open. 

And then she pulled back, and palmed herself. Ah. The different reaction. Hmm. 

Blood was trailing down Strade's chin. Raven reached down to get some on her thumb, tasted it. Considered.

She wanted to fuck him so badly.

But what kind of position, how could she manipulate his body, but still tie him down. She was staring at him, thinking about options, how to move him, when she saw Strade tense up.

Ren's body wasn't as strong as hers had been, but it was fast. It might have worked, the headbutt to Ren's groin, had Raven not been so focused on Strade's body.

Raven hit the tool cabinet, and Strade snarled, spitting blood.

“You think that makes you strong,” he howled. “So little blood, and you are already off. Let me out, and I won't kill you,” he bellowed. He glared. “Let us play again!” He kicked out, feet thudding on the ground, but Raven was already far from his reach.

She took deep breathes, calming her panicked heart. Of course it couldn't have been so easy. She picked up the knife, wiping the spit and blood off Ren's face. You had to keep your face clear, eyes working. She could not risk distraction later. She circled the room, and stood behind Strade, placing the knife at his throat. He froze. 

“This was going so well,” she stated, her tone cold and flat again.

With the flick of the wrist, she cut into Strade's shoulder. He whined, cutting off his yelp into a hiss as he gritted his teeth. Raven lifted her hand go again, then stopped. She could not see his face standing here. The noises were good, but she wanted more.

She came back an hour later. It took time to unscrew the mirror from the bathroom door, and get it downstairs. Then she he had to walk backward and round to make sure she could she Strade from where she stood behind him. 

Strade saw himself, and looked away.

Raven cut into his back, around the bandage from the previous day. First nicks, then lines, then longer lines, deeper. Her gaze flicked up from her work to the mirror, back and forth. 

((It had been a good idea. Strade had a camera so he could watch his work later, and she had a mirror. Ah, there was another idea. Tomorrow? It would have to be tomorrow. She couldn't stop now.))

She licked and bit and smeared the blood canvas of his back. 

She bit his neck. Slowly biting down harder. Ren's teeth were sharp. She tastes fresh blood then stopped and pulled back. 

“Beautiful.”

Strade caught his breath as Raven stood up. Hard again. 

She fisted Ren's dick, wondering if he would appreciate this?

She jerked off, giving Strade a light kick across his back occasionally, feeling a throbbing pulse each time he moaned in pain.

The white across the red was so beautiful.

Raven's breathing slowed. She tried to summon up her cool voice again, but it was not there for her to find. She asked, her tone still tinted with desire, “Will you sit still for first aid? It looks so...” she trailed off and ran a finger through the spunk, mixing it with Strade's blood. He hissed in pain, his jaw strained. “But I want to keep you alive.”

For now. They both knew it was there, unspoken: for now. Strade had tried to bully her again. Well, Ren. Maybe Ren would have been weak enough. This Strade didn't even know her name.

She boiled water, cleaned washed-clothes. She'd pore alcohol on it after....she hovered over her work before stopping the clean up to fetch a camera. She could jerk off again to that later as Strade was recovering. Ren's refractory periods were ridiculous—or maybe that was something she had brought to the table.

Only three of the cuts needed stitches, surprisingly. Still, Strade's back was done. Whatever it was she would do to him, it needed to be done elsewhere, which meant being in front of him.

The gag went back on, and the lights went out.


End file.
